


Save My Soul

by daisyisawriter91



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Jazz - Freeform, Jazz Age, M/M, Musicians, Past Character Death, Reincarnation, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyisawriter91/pseuds/daisyisawriter91
Summary: The year is 1926, July. And, while wandering down the streets of New Orleans, Benny meets a man he just can't resist.





	Save My Soul

The year was 1926, July.   
The air was sticky hot and stifling, the smell freshly cooked food permeating the atmosphere, senseless chattering from late night travelers drowned out the far-away cicadas. Mosquitos bit at their skin, but none of them really cared. Least of all Benny Lafitte, wandering down the street like he hadn’t a care in the world. He truly didn’t, for that matter.   
Benny twirled around the object in his hand, a long wooden pole he was quite unsure how he acquired. Things like this often happened to him, and he had long since learned to stop questioning it. It was better for his understanding of the world that he left the questions unspoken.  
Benny followed the sounds of brass bands, intent to wander until sunrise, when the song of New Orleans took a different tune. Hustle and bustle of daytime commute, of upstanding citizens doing average things. A rather boring contrast to the luxuries and indulgences after the first star appears.   
All the brass bands were somehow playing a simultaneous tune, upbeat and euphoric, all different in some ways, but all the same in many others. A melody easy to lose yourself in while dancing. But there was one instrument playing a different tune. A trumpet playing a slower, intoxicating song. A song Benny felt that he could drink like a fine wine.  
Benny discarded the pole and stepped off the path, determined to follow the sounds so different from the crowd. In his pursuit, he weaved around passersby like an obstacle course.   
His search took him to a bustling café, or at least, the outside of it. A man was lounging against the side of the building, firmly planted on a crate with unknown contents. He wore a cap and suspenders over a dirty shirt. His socks, peaking out of his pants, were mismatched, almost intentionally so. In his hands were a trumpet and a mute, the song still flowing from the brass object.   
The man clearly saw Benny, but made no move to stop. Benny stayed where he was and listened to the full tune, one he’d never heard prior to this very night. The man played with familiarity in every movement, like this was what he did every night.  
Sooner or later, the song had to end. And when it did, Benny gave a small round of applause. The man’s face lit up at the clapping.   
“Thank you, kind stranger.” The man said, tipping his cap and sitting up straight. In an upright position, his legs were too long for the crate, and he was forced to stretch them out. He set his trumpet to the side to turn his full attention on Benny. “Tell me, what brings you to my lil corner of this fair city?” He asked, slight lilt to his voice. Clearly not a Louisiana native, but close.  
“That song. It lured me here. What are you, the pied piper?” Benny questioned, only half joking. It was true, when he’d heard it, that he felt the strongest pull he couldn’t even begin to explain.  
The man laughed in response to that, giving a delightful crinkle to his eyes.  
“The pied piper lured rats and children. Evidently, I’m better, since I lured a man too attractive for his own damn good.” The man teased. Or was he teasing? Benny couldn’t be certain. “The name’s Garth.” He introduced, extending a hand. Benny took the hand and shook it, firmly.  
“Benny Lafitte.” He countered.   
“Good to meet you.” Garth said, dropping his hand back to his side. Benny sat beside the crate, leaning against the wall and looking up at Garth.  
“What was that song?” Benny asked.  
“Somethin’ of my own making.” Garth replied. “Had the notes in my head ever since I was a kid.”  
“Really, now?” Benny couldn’t help but be fascinated with everything this man said. He had a quality about him Benny simply _couldn’t_ resist.  
“Mhm. But being a musician doesn’t exactly pay the greatest when you look a little funny. You’re sitting on my house.” Garth rambled, just slightly. “The things I do for what I love…”  
Garth reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Benny’s eyes traced the movement, but Garth didn’t seem to notice. Instead Garth reached up and took his hat off, revealing dark brown hair.  
“You ever think about what’ll happen in your life? If you’ll make any sort o’ difference in the world?” Garth suddenly wondered.   
“Sometimes. But I tend to think that I’d rather just live how I want to. See what life throws at me.” Benny responded. This guy was full of surprises.   
Garth chuckled, resting his head against the wall behind him.  
“I think I’m gonna like you, Benny.” He said. From his pocket, he took out a matchbox and a carton of ciggys. His long fingers took out one and put it between his lips. He offered the carton to Benny, who mirrored the action.  
Garth put the carton back into his pocket and struck a match, expertly, on the box. He lit his own, then put the match out, discarding it onto the cobblestone street, soon to be trampled on by passersby. Benny gave him a questioning look, but wasn’t confused for long.   
Maneuvering his long body a bit awkwardly, Garth bent down and touched the tip of his cig to Benny’s. Benny resolutely ignored the heat on his own face, blaming it on the heat of the night. Naturally, _this_ was the one thing Garth noticed.  
Garth pulled back and chuckled, taking a puff of the ciggy.   
“Your face is redder than a strawberry, Benny. It looks cute.” He commented, amused smile on his face.  
That certainly didn’t help Benny’s blush.

 

After that night, Benny had kept coming back, almost every night. Over time, and quite inevitably, Benny fell head-over-heels. And he was quite lucky that Garth did the same.   
But one night, on his way back to Garth’s spot, Benny happened to glance down an alley. And it was the alley he saw Garth in, bleeding. Already dead. And although it was a great many years ago, it still stung to this very day. Especially that his killer was never caught. Benny never got vengeance for the love of his life.  
Benny would never forget the music Garth made, or the way he felt. He’d never forget a thing about his first love, no matter how many years passed. And there had been a great deal of them.  
In 1942, Benny was turned into a vampire while being shipped out to fight in Germany. He never made it off American soil. And through a long stint as a vampire, and an even longer time in Purgatory, he was finally alive again. And he realized there was only place he could go. New Orleans.  
The year was 2013, July.  
The air was sticky hot and stifling, the smell freshly cooked food permeating the atmosphere, senseless chattering from late night travelers drowned out the far-away cicadas. Mosquitos bit at their skin, but none of them really cared. Except for Benny Lafitte, who walked down the street looking like he was afraid of his own shadow.  
After Garth’s death, Benny had adopted his style. A cap, gifted to Benny very early on, suspenders, the whole nine. It made him feel more at home than anything else ever had.   
There wasn’t as much music to be heard. The tunes that Benny _did_ hear were in styles he never could’ve imagined. He wasn’t so sure he liked them, as they made him feel like he was truly out of place. And even though he was, he didn’t want to feel that way in his hometown. Especially after everything he’d gone through.  
Above the chatter and muffled sounds of night clubs, Benny heard it. A trumpet playing a slow, intoxicating song. A song Benny never thought he’d hear again, except in his wildest fantasies and most distant fever dreams.  
Unlike the first time, Benny _ran_. He ran through the crowds gathering around him, chasing down the sounds of the past like he would lose them if he stopped. He ran all the way back to a location he knew quite well, but had changed so drastically. But there was one thing that looked like it stepped right out of the past.  
There was a man lounging against the side of the building, firmly planted on a crate with unknown contents. He no longer wore suspenders and a beat-up cap, but instead, a canvas jacket and a blue flannel. But his socks were still intentionally mismatched, just showing through the gaps in his blue jeans. In his hands were a trumpet and a mute, the song still flowing from the brass object.  
It was Garth, somehow in the flesh once again. There was no possible way it could happen, and yet…here he was.  
Garth clearly saw Benny, but made no move to stop. Benny stayed where he was and listened to the full tune, one he’d heard played many times before in a distant memory.   
The tune concluded, just as it always had before. Benny was too paralyzed to even applaud.   
Garth removed the trumpet from his lips, set it aside, looked up, and smiled, brilliantly. It was a smile Benny had missed more than the air in his lungs.  
“Heya, Benny. I was waiting for you, you know.” Garth said, and Benny wanted to break down sobbing.  
“How are you here?” Benny asked. His voice trembled.  
“I was born again, I s’pose.” Garth replied, shrugging. “I knew you’d be along. At least, I hoped so. Don’t think I coulda made this far without believing that. What, with all the monsters and crap.” Garth stood from his crate, stretching his legs out, reaching his full height. “I missed you, Ben.”   
“I missed you, too.” Benny managed to choke out before he was enveloped in Garth’s arms.  
He was home.


End file.
